


One for the Angels

by ArcFour



Series: The City [1]
Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: F/M, Film Noir, There's a little angst in there too, This is what happens when ArcFour watches too much film noir and starts getting ideas, just a smidgen really, noir
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-06-27
Updated: 2012-07-01
Packaged: 2017-11-08 16:02:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/444944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArcFour/pseuds/ArcFour
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>I have always been a man of ambition. But these days, I’m a little bit more realistic. A man’s reach shouldn’t exceed his grasp, because heaven is for the angels, not for mere men.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**CHAPTER ONE**

 

**======== > ERIDAN: BE THE HOMICIDAL SEABLOOD <========**

     That’d be pretty difficult. I haven’t been that in a long time.

**======== > BE THE ACRIMONIOUS NIGHTCLUB OWNER <========**

     That’s a little easier.

     Though I seem to have forgotten what there is to be acrimonious about, right now. There’s an ocean’s worth of alcohol where my mental processes should be, and my memory’s a storm of belligerence and anger about something that’s lying just underneath the surface of my mind, but I’ll be damned if I can remember what it is.

     I must be really, really drunk.

     There’s a glass of something in my hand that I’ve long since stopped tasting. Iggy is looking at me out of the corner of his eye as he works the counter, and I’m pretty sure he’s scared. Scared that maybe I’m in one of my moods. Too scared to say anything, though. None of the other employees are meeting my eyes, either; they know me too well. He’s been wiping the same glass for a few minutes, now. I look at him, and he shifts his eyes away.

**somethin wwrong there igg**   
**no, sir.**   
**really**   
**are you sure**   
**because im pretty sure the glass is clean**   
**ah, right.**   
**just making sure it’s all good and sparkling for the guests, boss.**   
**sure**   
**you do that**

     He turns away and I glare into my drink. Fucking coward.

     Fuck, what am I even drinking?

**======== > IDENTIFY DRINK <========**

     Oh. I remember now. Salted whiskey; the only thing I ever drink on days like this.

     Fuzzy thoughts are pulling themselves from the depths of my drunken subconscious. Old memories of dusty books and tales of history and an ancient name I used to love.

     It was an old Roman tradition amongst the seabloods of the Mediterranean to salt their wine. It was, on the surface, simply a matter of taste, but it was also an insult; the taste of the sea never left a seablood’s mouth, it was said, and so they never really minded the salt in their own drinks. But it meant their guests had to drink disgusting wine.

     It was a power play, a display of superiority. There was once a time when that was the sort of person I hoped to be. A time when I made an image out of the nobility of those long-gone ages. But now I just drank my whiskey that way out of habit.

     I finish the glass, and clink it against the top of the bar. With a flick of my fingers I send it spinning on its side, and I watch it make its way towards the edge in slow, lazy circles.

     Iggy catches it before it falls, and fills it wordlessly, and as I take another drink, I try to remember why I’m drinking today.

     Each day has its own excuse, but some more than others; and, underneath the fog of my own alcohol-fueled ennui, I feel as if there’s a hell of a reason to drink.

     After a few moments of brooding, it swims to the surface of my thoughts, and I remember.

     God, I remember. It was a dream.

     I dreamed of _her_ again.

**======== > REMEMBER THE DREAM <========**

     The image hits me like a battering ram, and for a moment I’m lost in the past.

_She smiles, wicked and wide and false as a china doll’s, but I can only tell because the miniscule bit of light from the nearly-empty moon is shining on her grin. Her voice sounds in the near-darkness, sweet and low, and it makes me want to laugh because I know the truth of it._

**_This is it, Eri. Are you still with me?_ **

_I open my lips, and they’re chapped and dry in the arid winter air of the city. I lick them, and it tastes like salt and blood._

_It’s almost ironic, I think._

_I tell her the words she expects to hear, knowing that the words mean different things to her than they do to me, but we both need to hear it said._

**_forevver and alwways_ **

_She laughs at the words and the long-standing joke it represents, and we go to start a war._

     For a few moments I feel like I’m reeling, stunned by old memories of a bloody war and failed glories and a blue-eyed angel who dragged me to hell.

     Fuck. No wonder I’m drinking.

     I reach to pick up my shot, and find that it’s not where I left it. I look around for it, and see it in the long-talon’d claws of my newest sidekick.

     Serena’s holding the glass up, and she sniffs it with a grimace. She speaks, and it’s clear she hasn’t yet learned how to hide her disdainful tone in front of her superiors. Her words are polite, but it’s an obvious façade, a badly-made mask of her true feelings.

**Sir..**   
**It’’s almost time for the club to open..**   
**And I''m sure it wouldn’’t do for you to be too inebriated,, sir..**

     She hasn’t worked here long, so she doesn’t really understand. Not like Iggy. Not like everyone else I’ve hired here. She’s seen me at my best, but she still hasn’t seen me at my worst, and the rest of the club knows to avoid me at my worst.

     I look up at her rather stunning face, and though she’s trying to hold it back I see her real thoughts in the narrowing of her eyes. It’s a secret sneer, a grimace held entirely in the wrinkle of the skin around the eyes, an expression of arrogant, scornful superiority contained in a glance. It’s my fucking look, and she’s using it on me.

     Fuck that.

     I swivel on the bar stool, and stand, somehow managing to make the movement smooth, instead of weaving all over the place. I’m taller than she is, and I make it count when I lean over her. She’s against the seat behind her, and trying not to back down, but she doesn’t have anywhere to move.

     The expression in her eyes is quite different, now, but she’s still trying to school her face, just the same.

     I pluck the drink from her hands, and she relinquishes it without a fight. One hand holds the drink loosely at my side, and the other hand taps lightly on the bar top to our left.

**darlin**   
**youre neww here**   
**so ill be forgivvin just this once**

     She blinks, once, and I lean in closer.

**ivve been at this job a lot longer than you**   
**and i knoww more about wwhat i do than you evver wwill**   
**i knoww exactly wwhat i havve to do**   
**and howw drunk i need to be to do it is my business**   
**got that**

     She tries to hide her nervous swallow, but I see it flutter in her throat.

**Yes,, sir..**   
**I only wanted to help you entertain the thought that--**   
**i knoww wwhat you wwanted**   
**i also knoww youre replaceable**   
**so you focus on your part of the job**   
**and not mine**   
**or ill find someone else wwho can do it better**   
**are wwe clear**

     There’s silence for a moment, but then she nods.

**Yes,, sir.. Crystal..**

     I drink my shot, slowly, looking at her the whole time. Then I put it down on the bar, and only then do I let her move away. She leaves without another look in my direction, but I suspect I know what’s going through her mind all the same.

     Iggy reaches for my glass, tentatively, and I slide it into his hands. He reaches for the whiskey and salt again, but I dismiss him with a wave of my hands.

**dont bother**   
**im done**

     He nods, and starts to clean the glass. His relief is palpable. These moods of mine are rare, but strong, and I know they’re afraid of what I might do. He’s a coward, but at least he’s good at his job, for a human; punctual and respectful, too. I don’t regret hiring him.

     I may be having second thoughts about my new tealblood, though.

     I look around, ignoring the employees who are getting the place ready for the night, and I see her walking backstage, probably talking to Makara or Daisy about the night’s entertainment.

     She’s been useful, I’ll give her that, but she’s got ambition in her, and it means she’s on the lookout for blood in the water.

     But she’s new to the scene. We society-types are good at what we do, and Serena’s got a lot to learn before she’s good enough to try and take me out of the picture.

     It’s my club, still, and until she claws her way through me, she’ll play by my rules, because I’m the one with the power, here. And I know exactly how much she hates that.

     What a fun thought.  

     My fingers keep tapping on the bar in a staccato rhythm that sounds fairly familiar, and I wonder where it’s from. The name of the song is on the tip of my lips. Something to do with the ocean.

     Well. It’ll come to me.

     Serena reenters the dance floor. She’s studiously avoiding looking at me, but I know she’s watching me, same as Iggy. They’re wondering what I’ll do next.

     Fucking morons. I’m not going to let a little thing like severe inebriation throw me off my game. I’m a professional, black mood or not.

**======== > PULL YOURSELF TOGETHER <========**

     It’s simpler than either of them would really understand. I’m a master of the mask, and even if old memories are giving me a bad day, I will play my part to perfection.

     I walk away from the bar, and start my way up the set of stairs that lines one side of my club. They lead to the balcony above the main floor of the club, where I watch the interactions below. It’s where the guests I wish to speak to will come to me, and those I don’t will be kept from my gaze. It’s where I rule over my domain.

     There are many ways to drown out a bad memory. Drinking is one of them. Working is another.

     Doing both at once should work really fucking well.

     But I am a professional, and not a one of my guests will be able to guess at my inner state. I’ve played this game for years, and I have a masterful poker face.

     It’s time for me to play the host, and start the next round of the game of politics. It’s taken me years to get to where I am now, and more than a little luck, but the city knows my name, and those in power know how useful it is to be on my good side.

     They also know to fear my bad side. I whisper into many ears, after all.

     But for now, I will greet my acquaintances, and welcome them into my house, as a perfect host does, and with every word I speak they will be reminded of whose ears I hold, and what favors I am owed, and which secrets I know.

     There’s a part of me that wants to hunch my shoulders, to plunge my hands in my pockets, to hide in the quiet dark and let the haze of alcohol lift from my mind in peace. I need to throw myself into work and forget, about angels and fire and a war I started under a different name, but there’s a part of me that wants to sit in the dark and do nothing but remember.

     But I resist that temptation. My hands will stay firmly outside of my pockets, and my stride will be long, and my gaze resolute. My voice will be pleasant, and my true meanings subtle, and every conversation will be an exercise in the doublespeak of politics.

     Power is in all of these little things, and I haven’t gotten where I am now by forgetting that.

     The night is young, and there are people coming in, important and unimportant. Every one of them glances up at me, standing in my balcony above the rest of them. They meet my eyes as they walk in, and with a glance I remind them who’s in charge, here.

     This is Club Ampora, my bastion, my castle, my home, and in here, I am a prince among men.

**======== > ERIDAN: PLAY THE GAME <========**

 

**END CHAPTER ONE**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go; my first foray into Noir Fiction, courtesy of Homestuck! Enjoy it, everyone, and as always, comments are very appreciated. 
> 
> Oh, and many thanks to childishGambino, who helped me figure out how the heck to color format the text for the dialogue. Thanks, cG!


	2. Chapter Two

**CHAPTER TWO**

**======== > ERIDAN: TAKE A WELL-DESERVED REST <========**

     God, I’d love to. But I’ve still got things to do.

**======== > FINISH UP ALREADY IT’S LATE <========**

     What do you think I’m trying to do?

     The night is reaching its end, and I can see the soft light of day stretching its way across the sky outside my office window. Dawn is approaching, and I’m ready to be alone and asleep, but first I have to deal with the last business of the night.

     Serena’s standing beside me, holding a list, and visibly restraining herself from showing her impatience. She’s tired, as well, but she’ll have a few more tasks before she gets to go back to the trashy hovel she calls home. The night’s been long for the both of us, but I suspect she feels she’s gotten the raw end of the deal. She’s been running around like a headless chicken, doing the minor administrative tasks that I’m too important to take care of, and that sort of casual admission of unimportance is grating to girls like her.

     There’s a pile of documents on my desk, and the sight of them is making my eyes swim. I have to deal with some of them, but there’s a significant amount that I can pass off to Serena, and she knows it’s coming to her.

     I pick up one of particular interest, a ledger detailing payments made to one Mr. Droog for a shipment of exotic foodstuffs.

     ‘Exotic foodstuffs’ was, of course, a code name for smuggled goods from the Empire. Wines, tobaccos, and certain kinds of fish only found in the Mediterranean Sea. America’s embargo on the New Roman Empire and its so-called ‘subject countries’ made getting these products both difficult and highly illegal, but the Midnight Crew owned this city, and provided many easy opportunities to buy these high-demand goods. There were other gangs, of course, but the Midnight Crew was the simplest to work with, in the end.

      Plus, they liked me. They wouldn’t, if they knew the whole truth about me, but until that happened, I would remain firmly in their good graces.  

      I handed Serena the paper, and she stuffed it into a folder in her arms.

**get this paid off first thing**   
**and wwhen you do i wwant you to give a message to mr droog**

      She taps her thigh, once, before responding. The look of annoyance in her eyes makes me decide to mess with her a little bit. She’s proven rather amusing to annoy, I’ve found.

**And what message shall I give him??**   
**tell him that the next time my shipment is late i start goin to the prospit family**

      She starts, and her eyes widen.

**Sir……**   
**That sounds……**   
**That can’’t be a good idea--**

      I roll my eyes.

**say wwhat you mean ser**   
**itll wwaste less a my time that wway**

      She goes ramrod straight, and I see her suck in her breath through her teeth.

**That’’s a god damned moronic thing to do..**   
**You can’’t go around saying things like that to them!!**   
**They own this city,, remember that??**   
**Are you trying to get us all killed??**

      I laugh, and she bristles.

**youvve got a lot to learn ser**   
**and you take things too seriously**   
**relax**   
**its a fuckin joke and they knoww it because they knoww me**   
**the most thatll happen is that droog wwill get pissed and noir will laugh at him a bit**   
**because droog doesnt like me you see**   
**then noir wwill make sure my next shipment gets priority**

      She looks down at me, and her eyes narrow.

**And why would he do that??**   
**because**

      I gesture to the window, and the city outside.

**im one of the reasons he owwns this city**

      It’s true enough, even if the reasons Noir thinks it’s true aren’t the only reasons. Serena starts to respond, and I cut her off.

**go take care a that message**   
**and get some fuckin rest**   
**maybe get the stick out a your backside**

      She just stands there for a moment. She’s holding the folder of documents tightly in one arm, and she’s keeping her other hand very, very still. She’s baring her teeth, very slightly, and her nostrils are flaring, in and out.

      Hate is a beautiful, beautiful thing in a woman.

      She turns around without a word, and starts towards the door. I suspect she’s glad to get out of my presence.

**======== > ANTAGONIZE THE TEALBLOOD <========**

      It’s an entertaining thought. She looks like her nerves are stretched as taut as steel wire, and I suspect it would take very little to set her in a mood that’ll last her all day.

**oh**   
**before you head in for the day**   
**go tell daz to learn some neww fuckin material**   
**this aint the fuckin appalachians**   
**tell her sing somethin other than bluegrass**   
**or else ill just bring in that new seablood and replace her**   
**got it**

      She looks back at me, with spades in her eyes. I can already see what’s going through her mind. She hates that she has to deal with me, that she’s had to take every fucking order I’ve given, that I’m her ticket to entering the wide and profitable business of the dark side of our fine city, and she hates that she can’t do a god damn thing about it. She hates that she’s going to take one more order from me, and that this is going to be the story of her life.

      I raise an eyebrow.

**is there a problem**

      She speaks, and her words are hissed through gritted teeth, clipped short by her own constrained disgust.

**No.. Sir..**

      She leaves, and I lean back in my seat with a sigh.

      There’s nothing quite like witnessing the sight of a venomous black rage, barely held in check. Especially in a woman as deluded as she was. The poor girl might even think that she’d found a kismesis in me.

      Or maybe her hate was entirely platonic. I’ve never been particularly good at telling.

      Either way, there’s something extremely therapeutic about making people uselessly angry. Hatred has always been a pleasure of mine, romantic or not.

**======== > CONSIDER PASSIONATE BLACKROM <========**

      It’s almost tempting.

      Almost.

      But I know what would happen. It would be great, for a short amount of time. She had a real fire in her, and she had a lot to prove; all good things in a kismesis. Not to mention an absolutely _fine_ set of gams. But then I’d start seeing the cracks. I’d get too familiar with the parts of her that weren’t good enough, and when that happened, I’d start measuring Serena up to _her._

      It wouldn’t be long after that the relationship would violently combust. And not in the good, caliginous sort of way, either.

      I’d long since stopped looking for people who could measure up to _her_. I wasn’t looking to fill quadrants. With Serena, or with anyone else. That part of my story had ended a long time ago.

      And people like Serena have always paled in comparison to my angel.

      It’s a strange thing to remember. She had only barely counted as a kismesis, if one were to try and be technical about it. Romance had meant so little to her. But she’d ruined me forever all the same.

      My earlier drunken haze has long since disappeared, but there’s a new sort of darkness hanging on my thoughts now. My hand is tapping a song on my desk, and its name still escapes me, but the staccato rhythm is bringing old memories to the forefront of my mind.

      I stand, and try to distract myself with work. There are a few things I need to do, still, and maybe then I can sleep.

      Maybe then I can forget, for a little bit longer.

      I do what I can to forget it, but it’s hard. It’s been almost fifteen years since the Reckoning. My failed war.

      _Our_ failed war.

      Once upon a time, there was a boy who met a girl. A prince met an angel, and together they burned a city to the ground.

**======== > CEASE THIS TRAIN OF THOUGHT AT ONCE <========**

      It’s a dark story, one I’ve no interest in reminiscing about, so I try to banish it from my mind as I leave my office and reenter the club proper. Everyone’s gone; last call was almost an hour ago, and Makara had given his last performance an hour before that.

      I try to remember what his song sounded like. It was good jazz, the sort that flowed from his saxophone like whiskey down a throat, smooth and burning at the same time. He was a natural; I’ve never met anyone quite as good with a sax, despite his uncouth, raggedy manner.

      Plus, he worked for fucking pennies if you gave him some free booze on the side.

      Fucking hobo.

      I step onto the stage, and look out at the empty seats. Everyone’s gone, now. A day crew will come in and clean the place sometime around noon, and soon my morning manager will come in to watch the place while I sleep.

      But until then, everything’s quiet. The chatter of a hundred guests dancing and drinking and mingling, the whispers of a dozen conversations not meant for other ears, the dark, haunting sound of Makara and his sax, the saccharine lyrics of Daisy’s bluegrass songs, it’s all gone as silent as the depths of the sea.

      Most of the lights are off, as well. During the night there’s a number of them, all kept at a dim light. It makes the club a shadowy place, a place of cigarette smoke and soft whispers. It makes for a specific atmosphere, an air of unspoken danger and a seductive darkness. During the night, the only bright lights are above the stage, illuminating whatever star I’ve decided to let shine for the hour.

      But now the lights are off, except for the one by the door, and a single, lonely light above the stage I stood upon.

      This is my home, my bastion, and right now it is a dark and quiet place. It is nothing like what I used to hope for, when I was young and felt like the world was just waiting for me to take it.  

      Sometimes I wonder what the future holds for me.

      Noir’s hold on this city is firm, and the factions of politicians and rich families that haven’t sided with him are becoming fewer and fewer every day. Bit by bit, Noir’s reordered this city, in his own brutal, brash way, and he has always rewarded those who work with him as they deserve.

      Once I lived on the street, and it was only through a stroke of luck that I found myself with work. And it was another stroke of luck that put me in Noir’s sight. He gave me this club, and I gave him power, because he needed people who knew how to be subtle, and I had learned that much in my life.

      There was once a family of carapaces in Italy, during the Renaissance days. They weren’t one of the ruling families of any of the city-states, but the history books were filled with tales of the family’s luck and wealth, and no one was quite sure how they had made their fortune. It was only in recent years that the reason was discovered in the ruins of a villa outside of modern-day Venice; chests and chests of papers, ledgers, and letters, all detailing blackmail propositions, underhanded bribes, and the discovered secrets of bishops, merchants, and nobility.

      It proved that one did not need to be the one in charge to have the power. Desiring the throne was a fool’s goal. The wise man desired the seat behind.

      I have always been a man of ambition. But these days, I’m a little bit more realistic. A man’s reach shouldn’t exceed his grasp, because heaven is for the angels, not for mere men.

**======== > FINISH CLOSING UP <========**

      I walk to the end of the stage, and flick off the light above the stage. The stage is plunged into darkness, and the only light I have to go by now is the light above the exit and the softest touch of dawn coming in through the windows.

      I step off the edge of the stage, carefully landing from the three-foot drop. I weave through tables and chairs, letting the smell of alcohol and cigarette smoke permeate my senses as I try to think of business, of deals and secrets and politics, instead of the past I buried with my old name and every man and woman who swore to follow me.

      I reach the door, and pull the keys from my pocket. But the door is already unlocked, and the feel of my keys in the lock reminds me of old tricks, and I feel the skin on the back of my neck prickle, as if I’m being watched.

      I turn to look behind me, and suddenly I’m face-to-face with a pair of eyes I never thought I’d see again.

**Hello, Eri.**

      She smiles in a way that doesn’t reach her eyes, and it reflects in the soft light of dawn.

**It’s been a long time.**

      The keys fall from my senseless fingers as my mind tries to encompass the sight of my angel, my downfall, my one and only, alive and in front of me as if she’d never left.

      Celeste is alive.

**======== > ERIDAN: BE UTTERLY DUMBFLOUNDERED <========**

**END CHAPTER TWO**


	3. Chapter Three

**CHAPTER THREE**

**======== > ERIDAN: REGAIN COMPOSURE <========**

     I’m trying. God, I’m trying. But there’s a million words I want to say, a million things I want to do, and all that comes out of me is something between a gasp and a gulp.

     She’s here, she’s smiling, and I can see her eyes clearly, and it’s like nothing ever changed.

**My dear, dear Eri. What’s the matter?**   
**Cat got your tongue?**

     The words have no bite, but their casual familiarity hurts all the same.

**wwhat**   
**wwhat are you doin here**   
**howw did you get in here**   
**im pretty sure this door wwas locked**

     She laughs. Of course she does; it’s a stupid thing for me to say, but what else can I say? All my composure, my well-cultivated ability to control my emotions and expression, has been wiped away by the sight of her bright blue eyes.

**The day a locked door keeps me out will be the day I retire.**   
**You could use some better locks, though.**   
**This one was particularly easy to get through.**

     I can’t figure out how to respond, so instead I bend down to pick up the keys. No sense in leaving them on the floor, a small, insignificant part of me says, and of course it’s unimportant, but the words I want to say are out of reach.

**Well, well. I truly don’t believe it. Orphaner Dualscar, at a loss for words.**

     She steps forward, and she’s only inches from me, now, pale and human and empty in the eyes.

**Or should I call you Ampora, now? It seems you’ve let that secret out of the bag since I left.**

     Suddenly, I do know what to say.

     She’s inches from me, so when I grab her shoulder it pushes her back. She recoils, a little bit, but my hand is as tight as a vice on her shoulder, and I’m not letting her go anywhere.

     With my other hand, I grab her throat, and I bring her very, very close. The feel of her throat in my hand is so familiar that it hurts. I can only imagine what my face looks like right now.

     I can only imagine what might be lurking in my eyes.

     But she’s still fucking smiling. And it’s the smile I taught her, as fake as a doll’s.

**you**   
**left me**

     An old hatred reawakens in me, something I’d been trying to forget for a very long time, and here it is, as painful and all-consuming as ever.

**Of course I did.**

     She puts one hand on my face. Her words are soft, and I know it’s a lie; she’s never been soft. She can only act like it, when it suits her purposes.

**I did what I had to do. And so did you.**

     I loosen my grip, but she stays close to me and

     _how could I have forgotten she smelled like vanilla_

     I back away.

**wwhere did you go**   
**Somewhere far away, where people didn’t know my name.**   
**Celeste Moreau needed to disappear as thoroughly as Dualscar, and I didn’t have the advantage of a real identity to retake.**   
**and wwhat**   
**you couldnt tell me**   
**you couldnt tell me you wwere alivve**

     She raises an eyebrow.

**What do you think?**   
**The Prospit family was killing us.**   
**The Derse family was looking for revenge.**   
**If you had known I was alive, could you have kept away? Could Eridan Ampora have kept the rabid hordes from taking my life?**

     Of course the answer is no. I never would have been able to stay away from her. Of course she had to leave. And of course she did it without a second thought.

     That doesn’t make it any better.

**======== > BE A GOOD HOST <========**

     Yeah.

     Yeah, I could use a drink.

     I start to walk to the bar, and she follows me. I slip behind the bar, and start pulling out bottles and glasses.

     I pour her a brandy, and get myself a whiskey. When she sees the salt, she laughs.

**Oh, Eri.**   
**Still drinking that disgusting bilge?**   
**You always were obsessed with your image. Is that still true?**

     I take a seat at the bar. There are a few seats between me and her. I don’t think I could handle being any closer. I take a drink of my whiskey. It is disgusting, but in a way that’s familiar and comforting. It’s an acquired taste.

**yeah maybe**   
**it did me good though**   
**and it still does**   
**Oh, I’ve noticed.**

     She sips her brandy, and looks around the bar in an exaggerated way.

**I’ve heard plenty of the stories of the vaunted Club Ampora.**   
**Club Ampora, the city’s finest establishment.**   
**A place of drinking and smoking and singing, where you can pretend you’ve got it all.**   
**Yes, I can see your image has retained every bit of its grandeur since you stopped being Dualscar.**   
**you can cease wwith the fuckin sarcasm**   
**I knoww wwhere youre goin with this**   
**Do you.**

     I glare at her over my drink. My fingers are tapping on the bar again in that damned tune.

**ivve got powwer here**   
**influence**   
**amporas a name to be feared**   
**a name to be respected**   
**You’re a joke.**

     The words are spoken coldly, and she isn’t smiling now. The false humor is gone, and she’s showing her true colors. Every word is cold and calculating, meant to hurt, and lacking anything resembling basic decency. This is the broken girl I found, so many years ago, without the mask I taught her to wear to hide behind.

**You’re nothing but a lapdog.**   
**The Midnight Crew is just the dregs of the Derse family, the only ones too cowardly or useless to have died in the Reckoning, and you’re their little bitch.**   
**We wanted better than that, Eridan.**   
**yeah**

     As tightly as I’m gripping the glass, I’m almost afraid it’ll shatter in my hands.

**yeah that wworked really fuckin wwell didnt it**   
**just fuckin peachy**   
**lets start a wwar**   
**and take ovver wwhen the families kill each other**   
**wwell in case you didnt notice cel it bleww up in our faces**   
**theres no one left**   
**the gang is dead**

     She sets her glass down, and starts to drag her finger on the edge of it. A crystalline note sings from it.

**Not all of them.**   
**You and I are still alive.**   
**And you and I were the only ones who ever mattered.**   
**You and me, Eri.**

     Me and her.

     What a beautiful idea.

     I look at her, and she’s looking at me, not her glass. The note is still singing in the air, and she’s looking at me in a way that reminds me of when I decided I’d be a king among men. There’s so much I hate about her, but she’s always known exactly how to inspire me to greatness.

     Always and forever, we told each other once.

     There’s a silence in the air that even the glass note can’t fill, because we’re both waiting for the other person to make the next move.

**======== > SAY SOMETHING <========**

**you and me**   
**i think that died a long time ago**

     Her finger stops.

**I don’t think so.**   
**Our war failed, Eri, but we’re still around.**   
**The Reckoning made this city what it is today, didn’t it?**   
**We may have made a mistake, but Derse is gone, and the Prospit is nothing like what it used to be.**   
**prospits still around**   
**and derse isnt gone**   
**its just callin itself the midnight creww noww**

     She waves her hand dismissively.

**Noir is nothing like Magnus.**   
**And the Duchess has none of the power of her husband.**   
**Magnus and Albus are dead, Eri. The Duchess is barely holding onto the Prospit gang, and the Baroness hasn’t showed her face in here since Noir took over.**   
**And Noir’s a fool.**

     That was true enough.

**maybe**   
**but hes a dangerous one**   
**wwe underestimated them before if youll remember**   
**and that didnt wwork out so wwell for us**   
**True.**   
**But we learn from our mistakes, do we not?**   
**The lesson may have been taught in a particularly harsh manner, but it has been taught.**   
**havve you evver heard the phrase**   
**once bitten twwice shy**   
**Have you ever heard the phrase “when at first you don’t succeed, try, try again”?**

     I scoff.

**okay screww this**   
**look**   
**just**

     What do I say? What _can_ I say?

**it isnt that simple cel**   
**Isn’t it?**

     She stands, and walks behind me. She places her hand on my shoulder. Her hand is soft; I wonder if her shoulder still hurts from where I grabbed it.

**The gang was just rabble, Eri.**   
**Without us, they were nothing.**   
**And we can find new followers. Many more.**   
**You can use all this, the connections and favors and secrets you hold now, to destroy the status quo far more thoroughly than our little war ever could have.**   
**Can’t you see?**

     She leans in, and starts whispering in my ear and

     _I remember all the other times she’s whispered into my ear about hopes and dreams_

     I stay absolutely still.

**We could rule this city.**   
**You and me.**   
**Like it was always going to be.**

     I turn my head.

**howw**   
**i got awway**   
**but youre still on the run arent you**   
**Not anymore, Eri.**   
**I’ve been gone long enough. They won’t know who I am, or who I was. It’s been fifteen years, after all.**   
**seems a little stupid**   
**So does starting a club to work with the very people you nearly killed off.**   
**And yet.**

     Her hand is still on my shoulder, but it’s crawling up to my neck, inch by torturous inch. It hurts because it means different things for me than it does for her.

**What made you decide to start a nightclub, anyway?**

     I shrug, trying to ignore her fingers on my skin.

**i met a guy wwho kneww a guy wwho killed a guy**   
**and some shit happened**   
**so i guess i got lucky**   
**So you did. But getting lucky is better than still living on the street.**   
**wwell**   
**wwhere did you go anywway**   
**Right now, I’m in a hotel. The Crossway. You know the one.**   
**But before then? Well, that’s a story for another day.**

     She moves away, and I’m almost glad. I finish my drink, and turn to see where she’s going. She’s looking away from me.

**Always and forever.**   
**That’s what we told each other.**   
**yeah**   
**but then wwe burned a city down**   
**Only a third of it. And we didn’t actually do that. One of the Derse gang thugs did that, I heard.**   
**yeah but it was in a wwar wwe started**   
**that makes us fuckin accountable doesnt it**   
**I don’t believe so.**

     Of course she didn’t. Accountability was never something she worried much about. It was one of the things I hated about her, because it meant that so many of our fucking plans would come back and bite us in the ass.

**you havvent changed a bit havve you**

     She looks back at me, cold and calculating again, and she raises one eyebrow in a delicate display of arrogance.

**Should I have?**   
**fuckin psychopath**   
**You know you loved it.**   
**Or hated it, I suppose.**   
**I never did quite understand troll romance.**

     Nope. Another item on the list of things I hated about her. It was an extensive list, but I loved so much about her, too. I wonder if she ever really understood what she was to me.

     What she _is_ to me, I should say.

**yeah**   
**romance wwas never really your thing wwas it**   
**Hmm.**   
**No. I never did find any use in it.**   
**Love is weakness, I heard it said once. Hatred is as well.**   
**so**   
**wwhat wwas i**   
**You?**

     She laughs, but it isn’t derision. It’s the laugh that someone gives when they find something funny for reasons they’ll never be able to put into words.

I know that feeling because it’s the same feeling I’ve always had for her. Some might call it vacillation, the constant flipping between red and black, love and hate, but those people have never been me. They’ll never understand the truth of it.

     She responds, and it’s some of the softest words she’s spoken this evening.

**You were me.**   
**And I was you.**   
**And I could never love myself. Or hate myself, either.**

     For a moment I wonder how true that is. But when she speaks next, her words have a mischievous tone to them.

**Though you seem particularly good at both of those, yourself.**   
**yeah fuck you**

     She giggles and

     _damn I’d forgotten how much they made me want to laugh too_

I scowl at her.

**Oh, dear Eri. You’ve always been a basket case of narcissism and self-hatred, all in one.**   
**thats not evven fuckin possible**   
**And yet, here you are, living proof that paradoxes are, in fact, a thing that exists.**

     I flick my hand at her in annoyance. It’s a gesture I haven’t done in almost fifteen years, a familiar expression of irritation that I only ever used on this one infuriating woman, who only teased and laughed and cried as a form of manipulation and control, and suddenly I am jarred out of the familiar rut I had so easily fallen into. She’s been here ten minutes and already I can see myself falling in her trap, and becoming the man I thought had died in the Reckoning.

     And I can see in her smile that she sees it, too.

**======== > MAKE YOUR DECISION <========**

     I stand from my seat, and walk to her. She stays still, confident and sure.

**======== > MAKE YOUR DECISION <========**

     I grasp her shoulders, softly, and look into her eyes, and for a moment I wonder what it would be like.

     But I know already.

**======== > MAKE YOUR DECISION AMPORA <========**

     I already have.

**no**

     Her lips grow thin and her eyes grow hard, and I see some of her true face again, the one I taught her to hide.

**No? No _what_ , Eri? No, you won’t pull yourself from this fucking rut? No, you won’t move out of this lowly role you’ve buried yourself in? No, you’re too much of a coward to do what needs to be done?**

     I put my hand under her chin.

**no**   
**i wwont make the same mistakes i made then**   
**dualscar is dead and gone**   
**and im a different man**

     She pulls away.

**Have you really lost all hope?**   
**no**   
**i just havve different hopes now**   
**ill nevver be a king cel**   
**but right noww im prince**   
**Yes.**   
**A prince of cowardice and irrelevance.**

     She turns and starts walking to the door. I see her hands clench and flex at her side, and her steps are clipped and quick, and I wish I could tell her different.

     I wish I could make her understand, but I don’t even understand it myself.

     But she stops before she reaches the door, and she turns to me, and looks at me with those blue eyes that have haunted me for fifteen years, and she doesn’t look angry. She looks sad.

     And I think she really is.

**I know you’ll change your mind.**   
**And I’ll be waiting, Eridan Ampora.**   
**You know where to find me.**

     My angel walks out the door, and into the dawn light, and I wonder if she’s right.

     I turn back to the bar, and pour myself another drink. But when I bring it to my lips, I can’t seem to take a drink. The glass hangs at my lips, for a moment, but then I take it away.

     Then, with a sudden fury that I can’t fully understand, I throw the glass with all my might at the door she left through. It shatters, into a thousand sparkling pieces, and I wonder if that’s what the death of a hopeful thought sounds like.

     I stand there, in my club, my home, in the near-silence and near-darkness, and I try to make my heart stop hurting.

     When I finally go home, it still hurts.

**======== > ERIDAN: SLEEP <========**

**END CHAPTER THREE**


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